


wilder than lions, louder than sound

by ruthlesslistener



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (mentions of), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Healthy Relationships, I snatched the idea between my teeth and ran away with it, Jam Fic, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, No noncon, Past Child Abuse, Rutting, Unexpected Heat, alpha Jake English, as usual, no dubcon, omega Dirk Strider, or: we were tossing around an idea on Discord and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/ruthlesslistener
Summary: You wake up with a cramp twisting your lower abdomen and a headache buzzing in the back of your skull.You’re restless. Your stomach aches and clenches, the muscles of your abdomen pulled taut, and your blood runs hot through your veins. Your mind is hazy. Anxiety creeps around the corners of it, stalking like a hungry wolf, always there, always lurking, even when you pay no mind to it.You do what any adult with a job and a day full of work does. You tell yourself you caught some weird bug and force yourself out of bed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly with the amount of omegaverse I write and/or plan to write, I should probably be crowned the king of A/B/O by now. I'm the smug motherfucker with the dubious kinks lurking in the dark parts of the internet. It's me.
> 
> This started on the Strilonde Discord when someone threw out the idea of Dirk abruptly learning that he was an omega when he goes into heat for the first time in his early 20's and needs Jake, his alpha roommate/the guy he's pined after for who knows how fucking long to help him through it. As you can see, it has now turned into a 15k+ oneshot. Most of this was typed on a phone. Voila.

You wake up with a cramp twisting your lower abdomen and a headache buzzing in the back of your skull.

It's not a pleasant thing to start the morning with, and you've had plenty of bad mornings. For a long, long time, (a few minutes), you lay there, feeling your head throb and your belly ache, wondering what went wrong with you, why you're fucked up, if you're deadly ill- and then you finally stop, and breathe like you would if you were stuck in a panic attack, and the anxiety that you didn't even know was holding you lifts its weight off your chest and draws its claws out of your mind. The headache decreases, but only slightly- now, the buzz is not from anxiety, but from a deep-seated, niggling ache. You're restless. Your stomach aches and clenches, the muscles of your abdomen pulled taut, and your blood runs hot through your veins. Your mind is hazy. Anxiety creeps around the corners of it, stalking like a hungry wolf, always there, always lurking, even when you pay no mind to it.

You tell yourself you caught some weird bug and force yourself out of bed.

Jake's already up, groggy but functional; he chirps a cheery 'good morning' at you from the general vicinity of the coffee maker as you shuffle into the kitchen. You grunt a reply at him, trying valiantly to ignore how the sight of his warm, sleepy smile makes your belly twinge in a way that is not entirely unpleasant, and head for the fridge in hopes of making breakfast, doing the best you can to look fully healthy.

It doesn't work. You've barely made two steps towards the fridge before Jake suddenly appears by your side, sniffing at the crook of your neck with a frown on his face. You jump and curse-and wow, you must be _really_ out of it for him to sneak up on you like that- but despite your irritation at being caught, you don't try to move. Jake isn't the most imposing of dudes out there, but he _is_ an alpha, and he _is_ one of your closest friends. Trying to avoid or deny him the opportunity to check up on you would only make his worry worse, even if your knee-jerk reaction is to back up and reassure him that you're okay so he doesn't have to waste his time on you.

(You don't dare let yourself dwell on the warmth that swells through you when he approaches, at the giddy relief you feel when he carefully checks you over- relief that he cares enough to try. You don't dare let yourself think about how inviting he looks, how much you want to wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his shoulder with his pulse thrumming in your ear and your lips at his neck. You don't dare, because Jake is an alpha and you are a beta and you know that it's his nature to want to make you happy, you _know_ it's his nature to want to give you everything he can offer, you don't dare to think of it or look at him because then he might catch the longing in your scent, in your body language, and if he catches it and gives you himself simply for the sake of pleasing you you don't know if you'll ever forgive yourself-)

"Dirk? Dirk." A hand waves in front of your face, startling you out of the haze your mind slipped into and- oh, fuck. Jake looks concerned. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Are you alright there, buddy? You zoned out on me when I asked you if you were okay."

This close, his scent is almost unbearable, that heavy alpha musk thick in your nose, weighing heavy on your tongue. It makes thinking hard, and you allow yourself a momentary lapse for panic while you try to come up with something that won't freak out any of Jake's protective instincts.

"I'm fine," you say, and then immediately wince. Any dumbass with two eyes and a working nose can obviously tell you're not fine, you don't know what you were trying to achieve by saying that. "Just a little bug. Probably picked it up at the shop when I stayed in late, it should pass in a couple days."

The worried frown on Jake's face deepens, but his shoulders relax by a fraction. Good. You take that as an indicator that your interview is over and slip by him to snare some Lucky Charms, because the ache in your stomach has turned to something akin to gnawing emptiness and you have a serious craving for something sugary that you're not planning to pass up on.

"This is what I mean by not overworking yourself, Dirk." Jake's voice is cheery once again. You sigh in relief. "You spend all those dangedblasted hours slaving away over your projects, but you rarely take any time for yourself! One day you're going to run yourself ragged, and then you'll be dealing with far worse than a silly little bug." Jake thumps your back, affectionate as always, and the content sends a pulse of heat through your body that startles you so badly, you nearly drop your cereal. You take in a shaky breath, and the heat tingles down your spine, throbbing in your gut to the tempo of your pulse. The scent glands in your wrists and your neck ache with it- it's unlike any other fever you've had in the past, and the unfamiliarity of it frightens you. Just what the fuck is wrong with your body?

Jake's still talking, cheerfully prattling on about the project that he's currently working on for Skaia.net. You take a deep, steadying breath, letting the familiar cadence of his voice soothe you, and grab your anxiety medication off of the cabinet shelf. You may not know exactly what's going on, but you know a bad mental health day when you see one, and you certainly don't need to deal with a panic attack today.

Jake notices it when you turn around to grab a bowl and some milk, but doesn't say anything. The worried frown returns, though, and you can tell he's trying to suppress it for your sake, which is almost worse than if he started fussing over you again.

"So uh, what are your plans for today?" He pops a couple slices of bread in the toaster and leans against the counter, trying his damnedest to look casual. It doesn't work: you can smell the worry in his pheromones from here, he hasn't put on any scent blockers yet. Your stomach churns in guilt.

"Probably gonna stay at home and work on wiring that A.I. I was telling you about," you say slowly, trying to turn your thoughts away from Jake so you can work out a plan for the day. There's no way you can work in the shop in this condition, not with the fog in the brain and the way your hips have suddenly started aching. The pain is distracting enough that you go back to the pantry to fetch a bottle of advil before sitting down at the table. "Whatever virus I caught is one nasty motherfucker. I'm not letting Dave catch this."

Jake hummed in reply, some of the tension bleeding from his body, and you relax right along with him. A few years ago, you would have been mortified at just how well you responded to him, but now, after living with him for so long, after spending so much time hanging out with him and Jane and Roxy in the flesh, responding to him being your alpha is as easy as breathing. They're your pack, your lifeblood; when one of them is upset, you are upset. When they're happy, you feel like you're on top of the world. It's life. "That's a good idea. It's breeding season for omegas, isn't it? Wouldn't want Davey boy to be sniffling and sneezing through his heat-his mate might actually try to kill us this time."

The mention of Karkat brings a smile to your lips, though you quickly drown it with a grimace as you down your pills. "Yep, it's heatin' season. I doubt Karkat would have time to come for our throats, though- it's time for him to come off his suppressants, and he and Dave always sync up when they stop taking them. If we're lucky, his heat will take the edge off of his anger, and all we'll get is a solid earful about the magics of 'keeping ourselves fucking clean, you disgraceful shitstains for human beings, this is the reason why you got my mate and your dumb ass sick.'"

You pitch your voice higher when you imitate Karkat, pinching your nose for extra effect, and Jake bursts out laughing. A wave of giddy happiness rocks your body, accompanied with a throbbing pulse of heat, and you wince at the pain of it, stirring your Lucky Charms in a futile attempt to bring your appetite back.

 **"** Well, I was planning on taking a half day anyways, so you chose just about the right time to get sick." Jake leans directly over you to grab the marmalade, pressing you down towards the table; you make a muffled noise of displeasure and slap at him, trying to get him. All it does is prompt him to rest his chin on your head and become a complete deadweight, that bastard. "One of my best associate's wife is in rut, so there's not much we can hope to accomplish today! I can come straight home for lunch if any of your symptoms get worse, and I can probably just abandon the lot of them to their own devices if your health decides to take a long walk off a short pier. What do you say to that, Dirk?"

The hand not holding the marmalade reaches down to tap a playful tempo against the back of your wrist. You swallow your mouthful of Lucky Charms, carefully wipe any emotion off of your face, and grab his wrist like you're planning on flipping him off of you.

(You aren't.)

(You don't want to admit many things about yourself, but one of the many things you most certainly will never admit to is how the playful teasing behind your casual morning wrestling sessions never fails to make you smile. That would only encourage Jake, and you can't afford to let him think that he can just plop down on you anytime he damn well feels like it, no matter how comforting his weight feels against you. You work in complicated robotics; the last thing you want is some hunk of an alpha dropping on you while you're in the middle of wiring in a particularly complex piece of machinery.)

(The feral part of your mind- the part that is pure beta instinct, the part that compels you to croon softly to Dave when he's upset and to bare your neck to Jake and to Jane to show them how much you love and trust them- whines in dissent.)

Jake twists his wrist out of your grasp and nuzzles into the wavy mess of your bedhead. You growl a little at that, thinking he's trying to distract you from your task, but subside when you hear him take two deep breaths in through the nose, inhaling your scent as discretely as possible, checking up on your health. Typical alpha, always trying to ensure that those in their care are safe no matter what they say; typical Jake, to try to do it in a way that he thinks he can sneak past you.

You know the moment he captures the amusement in pheromones, because he immediately responds by chuckling and wrapping his free arm around you in a hug. Your stomach twists again, heat pulsing through you once more, and you take in a shaky breath as you try to resist the urge to twist your head around and press against his chest, to mark him as yours in a way that every instinct in your body screams that you must.

The longing burns through you like fire. You shiver, clenching your teeth as another heat wave pulses through you, and press back up against Jake, suddenly so desperate for comfort that it almost scares you. You feel him tense against you, can feel the way the confused noise he makes in response thrums in his throat, and, when he lifts up off of you, you're startled by the sharp, keening cry that you make in response.

"What the fuck," you whisper, clutching at your chest. The anxiety is back again, sharp and painful- your meds only took the edge off of them, and even then, not by much. Your scent has risen, too, enough for you to smell it under the fruity chemical mask of your shampoo, and it's different, sweet and heavy with territorial pheromones. You feel Jake stiffen against you, hear a growl rising in his chest, and this too terrifies you- you've never heard Jake growl, not in anything that wasn't play.

You don't catch the fact that you reek of fear until Jake practically crushes you in his arms, the soothing rumble in his chest vibrating in your throat as he presses his face into the side of your neck to scent you proper. Normally, this would be a big breech of space- but right now you're far from normal, and something about having Jake so close soothes the frantic worry thrumming through you.

"Your scent is different than usual- it's muskier," Jake murmurs, and the sound of his voice- deepened by the growl that ripped through it- makes you shiver for an entirely different reason. He doesn't move, doesn't try to pull away; you should probably shove him off, you should probably shoo him to work, you should probably finish eating and withdraw, this is something that only mates do, not friends, not roommates-

Jake sighs, squeezes your arm, and pulls away, perhaps realizing just how intimate the embrace was. You feel a spark of panic, and you nearly cry out again, but this time you bite your tongue and swallow the urge like you swallowed your pills. You don't need to worry him anymore than you already have, you don't need to keep him away from work. It's just a virus, but you haven't gotten so sick since before you and Jake moved in together, and you're in the middle of working on a highly complicated project. It's probably just stress that's freaking out your instincts, you're sure of it.

This is what you tell yourself as Jake looks at the clock, makes a muffled noise of dismay, and rushes to finish breakfast. This is what you tell yourself when he rushes to get dressed, when he rushes back out, when he clasps a hand on your shoulder and makes you promise to text him if things get worse. This is what you tell yourself when the door slams shut and you hear his car drive away and you're left alone in the house with heat twisting in your limbs and some wild part of your mind crying out in fear of the unknown.

The Lucky Charms are a lost cause at this point- you're too nervous to eat. You stand, dump the milk down the drain, leave the bowl in the sink to tend to later, and go to work on your project.

* * *

You can't focus on the A.I.

The haze in your mind clouds your senses, makes you fumble and lose track of your train of thought. The heat pulsing through your limbs weakens your muscles to the point where holding still is difficult and standing for long periods is impossible. The anxiety still lurking in the back of your mind doesn't exactly help, either, and your skin is sensitive to the touch- your shirt scrapes against you in a way that's almost painful. You want nothing more than to strip down to your underwear and curl up in bed to rest.

After a couple more futile attempts at wiring, you decide to give up. The feral part of your mind is restless, and the call of your bed is too much. You push your tools to the side and stand up, gritting your teeth at the wobble in your legs, and strip out of your shirt and pants. The cool air helps a little, but not by much- you're still feverish, still thrumming with a need for something you can't put a name to. The cramps are subsiding, little by little, leaving behind an empty, yawning ache.

You look at your bed, at the mess you made of it, and grimace. When you were working, you could think of nothing but the want to lay down and rest. Now that you're up, however, you can barely stomach the sight of it. There's something irritatingly _off_ about it, something not right. It's not nearly as appealing as you thought it was when you went to bed last night.

Just to be sure that your brain fog isn't making you pickier than usual, you go over and paw at it as if you're about to lie down. Almost immediately, you're struck by your scent, mingled horribly with the god-awful stench of various hair gels and styling products, and you reel away from it with a hiss of displeasure, shaking your head to clear your head of the chemicals burning in your nose.

Alright. So your bed is a no-go, and you're far more sensitive to scents than you usually are. Things are starting to piece themselves together, symptoms are starting to form together to form a prognosis, and you're not liking the look of what your brain's presenting you with.

Betas had hormone cycles just the same as alphas and omegas did, but they were usually not this bad unless you were a higher or lower-ranking beta than normal. You've had them in the past, around rutting season, but they were never anything worse than a couple days of irritation and extreme hornieness; certainly nothing as bad as this. You'd just figured you were lucky- lucky to be the calmest dynamic of the pack, the smart one, the one that never had to deal with the mood swings of rut or the crippling need for attention of heat. You certainly remember thinking you were luckier than Dave, whose first heat had announced itself very painfully during a shopping trip at Walmart. A young omega trying to crawl under a shelf while keening in pain and fear, reeking of fear pheromones and making every alpha in the vicinity go batshit with worry certainly wasn't the strangest thing to happen in Walmart, but it was also certainly not a thing that was very common. You yourself never really presented; your teenage years passed with nary a disruption on your pheromonal front, so you shrugged, slapped yourself down as a beta when your collage asked you for your dynamic, and went on with your life. 

...Keening. Fear and pain and anxiety. Heavy pheromones, the need to find a safe place, your lack of presenting. You remember the way Dave cried when you dragged him out of his makeshift nest, and you feel the hairs on the nape of your neck prickle, because your memory of the sound he made matches perfectly with the way you cried out this morning.

You _really_ don't like what you see.

Something catches your shoulder, and you're jolted forcefully from the steel trap of your mind as you stumble. When you look down, it's a chair- the chair you sat in this morning. Somehow, you'd walked all the way out to the kitchen without you noticing.

It's too open out here. It's far too open out here, you're far too aware of just how vulnerable you are.

Panic rises in you like bile, and you swallow it back down, fighting to keep yourself from losing yourself. The last of the cramps in your belly are subsiding, leaving you empty, hollow, and aching. You're hot all over now, hot like a fever, the only thing left in you not burning up the icy thorn of fear buried in your heart. You need to get to safety, you need to get there _now_ , you need to throw yourself into somewhere dark and enclosed and soft and you need someone to be with you, someone to protect you while you shiver and shake and fight back the wildfire raging through your body.

Jake. You need Jake.

Fuck personal boundaries, fuck territory boundries, fuck decency, fuck the fact that Jake is your roommate and you promised yourself that he would never be anything other than that to you. Fuck the fact that you've pined after him since you knew what a crush was, and that what you are about to do violates just about every rule there is written in the code that dictates How to Be The Best of Bros.

You dart back into your room, grab your phone, dart back out into the kitchen, and make a beeline for Jake's room.

He's scentmarked the door like always this morning, leaving back a pheromone marker that practically screams "the alpha Jake English lives here, this is his territory, trespass at your own risk." It's a very wild, very _feral_ thing for him to do, especially since he's an alpha- but then again, he grew up on an island where his only family was his tough-as-nails grandma (another alpha) and his dog. It's not like he had to care much for the boundaries of others until he moved in with you- and even then, you'd been friends for years before that happened, so he had seen no need to change it. His general disregard for city cohabitational codes always used to bother you, before; but now, you're gasping and shaking with something that you're _pretty fuckin sure_ is heat, actual, real-as-fuck heat, and the thick, spicy musk of his scent feels less like a declaration of dominance and more like a promise of safety and comfort as you twist the doorknob open, press your wrist to his mark to declare your presence, and stumble into his room.

It's on the east side of the house, opposite of yours, and the light of the morning sun through his window is blinding. You whimper in pain, close the door behind you, (actual, honest-to-god _whimper_ ) and stumble across the room to close the blinds and draw the curtains. That helps a little; darkening the room makes it feel less like your best friend's bedroom and more like a den, which calms the insistent, anxious pull on your mind.

A den. A mating den. Right. You're only just now grasping the situation, and it's fucking ridiculous. You'd laugh, but you think you'd might whine out Jake's name instead.

If your muscles were a little shaky before your run to the bedroom, they're practically gelatinous now, and it's making standing difficult. You reduced some of your tension by seeking out your ma- _Jake's_ room, but now that you no longer feel like wolves are breathing down the back of your neck, it's quickly becoming clear that you need to rest, and you need to rest _now_.

You eye the closet for a brief moment- it's dark and enclosed, perfect for resting- and then you remember that that's where Jake keeps his guns and old movie posters and quickly decide against it. Under his desk- no, there's nothing but a snare of dusty computer wires and a couple harvestmen spiders- who you _refuse_ to call daddy long legs- down there (you _told_ Jake to clear them out months ago, but apparently he took a liking to the creepy little shits and didn't. You have no idea how they're still alive, honestly, unless they've decided to cannibalize each other, which honestly wouldn't surprise you.) His beanbag in the corner looks nice, but it's not big enough for you to curl up on. The stack of miscellaneous computers and action figures currently taking up residence in the corner don't look like an appealing enough mess to bother with, not when you're so literally hot and bothered.

The last place you approach is Jake's bed.

It's ridiculous, because it was really the only option to nest in, the only reasonable place for you to go. You have no other options, unless you want to pull down his clothes from his closet and fashion yourself a den made out of scentless fabric and scrap metal- and yet, as you stand by it with your hand hovering over the (ridiculously neat) sheets, you can't shake the fact that it feels like a trespass. Jake didn't invite you into his room; you took it for yourself. Jake didn't say you could sleep- that you could _nest_ in here, and yet here you are, eyeing his bed up so you can pull it apart and rearrange it into something that you can get comfortably fucked in.

Another pulse of heat flares through you, and with it comes intense arousal. The emptiness in you _aches_ , your dick twitches against your thigh- how long have you been half-hard?- and your legs almost go out from under you. You whine at the shock of it, biting down hard on your lip to stifle the sound, and take tight hold of the sheets so you can grind against the edge of it without falling over.

The heat wave passes, leaving you tingling and overstimulated as you rock against the bed. You're fully hard now, and the friction is delicious against your dick- but you can't get off. _You can't get off_ . Your skin is oversensitive to the point of pain, you're so aroused you can smell it on yourself, your pheromones practically a beacon of 'fertile, fuck me please'- but _you can't get off_.

The futility of it strikes you like a blow, and you let out a sob of frustration, thumping one fist against the bed like you think it can help you. The momentary lapse of intense need has passed with the pulse, but your restlessness has not, and you're still more aroused than you think you've been in your entire _life_. The drunken one-night stands back in college have nothing on the live wire coiling through your stomach, at the emptiness inside you that aches and pulses with every breath you take, every beat of your heart.

Fuck, you _really want Jake_.

Dimly, you realize that you are crying, actual tears of frustration misting your eyes. You've heard of this happening to omegas in the middle of a heat, you've seen it in the shitty movies Jake always insists on watching with you, and you're not really all that pleased to have it happening to you. You have dignity, dammit; sure, you may be whimpering and grinding against your best friend's mattress, but it's the thought that counts.

Fuck, your scent is all over the bed now. There's a wet spot from your precome where you're pushed up against the mattress, reeking of the scent of a heating omega; if you were worried about messing up Jake's sheets for your nest before, then you've got practically no excuse for _not_ nesting in them now.

The anxiety is coming back, mingling weirdly with the burning heat tingling in your gut. You have enough presence of mind left to tear the soiled covers off the bed mattress and wrap them around you before instincts take over and you make a valiant attempt to try to push yourself into the slot of darkness under the bed.

It doesn't work- you only manage to wiggle into the space between the carpet and the bedframe before you get stuck- but the sheets smell strongly of Jake, and the pressure of the frame against you helps. You can feel another wave of anxiety coming for you from the part of your mind that's all wild omega instincts, anxiety edged with another pulse of heat, and you grit your teeth, unlock your phone, and pull up your text chat with Jake as fast as you possibly can before it strikes.

TT: Hey. So you know that thing I came down with this morning? Turns out it's not a bug after all.

TT: I'm in heat.

You set your phone down and wrap a blanket over your mouth trying to take in as much of Jake's scent so you can wait out his reply. Luckily, it doesn't take too long; Jake is responds surprisingly quickly for someone who's supposed to be at work right now. You should probably tease him for that later, when you're not a sniffling, whimpering, horny mess half- tucked under his bed.

GT: Heat? But that's impossible!! You're not a low enough beta for that!! Are you sure you're not just dancing with the faeries, bro?

TT: Dancing with the what.

GT: Dancing with the faeries- it's a term my grandmother used to use when she would give me medication when I was feverish and I got all groggy and weird. But that's not the case! The case is that you're sick, and probably not your right mind, and I probably shouldn't go into the details of my grandmother's idioms while you deal with such a doozy of a fever.

TT: Yeah, well it's not a fever. It's heat.

TT: And before you try to argue against me or try to infer I'm out here prancing around with a bunch of sparkly assholes packing some hella shrooms, allow me to remind you of one thing:

TT: I never officially presented.

TT: Or, at least, not in the traditional definition of the word

TT: I'm sure I probably had a couple of heats somewhere in my adolescence that we just never fuckin noticed because they were just perceived as panic attacks. You know, shit I was known for, shit I knew how to deal with. I always holed up in my room for those, anyways. It would have been ridiculously easy for them to have flown under the radar.

TT: Why they never popped up with other, more traditional heat symptoms, I don't know. Probably some hormone imbalance or something. I wasn't exactly the healthiest kid, mentally speaking. Maybe it's because I moved in with you, a single, perfectly viable alpha that also just so happened to be the only one I knew that wasn't either my shitstain of an uncle or a girl.

TT: But the point isn't how my presentation happened, or why no one noticed. The point is is that it did, and that I am now currently in heat, and no, it is not a fever or some magical fairy bullshit. It's a heat. I am very, very certain on that front.

Jake's chat bubbles flicker up, disappear, and then rise up again. The heat wave hits you, and you cry out without meaning to, your hips rocking forward without your consent.

Your gut clenches and aches again, and, with a start, you realize that the back of your thighs are wet. You reach down between your legs, gingerly press a finger against your taint- and yep, your underwear is damp, and when you look down under the blankets you catch a whiff of something sweet. You're slicking.

Well, if you weren't sure you were an omega now, you sure-as-fuck are now. Vaguely, you wonder how you missed the fact that you had a secondary set of reproductive organs tucked away somewhere in your body- but then again, physically speaking you've been pretty healthy, and the few doctor's visits you've checked in for have just been for basic shit like checking your heart and lungs, getting your flu shot. Looking for something only a male omega would have- especially when you were registered as a beta- would have been out of the question.

You're kind of regretting not having an in-depth check now.

Your phone keeps pinging- apparently Jake found his tongue. You're tempted to check it, but you're even more tempted by the pressure you're still exerting by your asshole, which burns and tingles with the need to be filled. You've fingered yourself before, but you never remember being as sensitive as this- and though you know that fingers alone are unlikely to satisfy you, you're driven by heat and instinct instead of logic now, and that instinct demands that you need to be fucked, _now._

You kick some of the covers off of you, lift your hips, and slid your soaked underwear off. Your dick springs free, hot and throbbing- you give it a couple pumps, trying to stave off some of the heat, and then you pull your knees up to your chest and slide a finger into your hole.

It goes in immediately, aided by your slick, and you gasp and stiffen at the tingling sparks that race down your spine from the pressure of it. You're much looser than you would be off-heat, and much, much more sensitive. You crook your finger, testing how open you are, and slide it down the wet, wet walls, shivering as you do so.

It's not enough. You lick your lips, tasting the salty residue of your tears, and add a second finger. It slides in like it's nothing, like you were made to take it and much, much more, and _fuck_ , you _were_ , you _were_ made for this, what the fuck were you even thinking? Breathing's a little bit difficult in this position- you shift a leg to the side and down, there, fixed it- and pump your fingers, gasping as you find your prostate and pleasure shoots through you, gasping at the pleasant heat blooming in you, right where you're empty. You feel like you're burning up, you've got two fingers up your ass, your dick is drooling precome onto your abdomen- and it's _still not enough._

You grit your teeth and jam a third finger in, no longer caring about being rough, no longer caring about anything but chasing that sweet, sweet release. There's a bit of a stretch, fitting three fingers in, but it feels _good_ , so, _so_ good, and you cry out like it's Jake fingering you, like if you pleaded well enough he'd fuck you, knot you. You can feel the heat building in you, the warmth coiling in your stomach- you're so close to orgasm, so close you can almost feel it, and...and...

You don't come.

You keen so hard your throat hurts, tears streaming anew down your face as you thrust your fingers in and curl them, trying to convince your body that it's a knot. There's a bit of comforter half-hanging to the left of you, Jake's scent soaked into it, and you bite it in frustration, running your tongue over the fabric to try to taste him. All it does is frustrate you all the more, the scent of your alpha reminding you of just how far away he is, of just how alone you are.

A remix of one of your brother's annoying jangly pop songs chimes in your ear. Jake's calling you.

You roll over and grab the phone, fumbling to hit the 'accept call button'. Immediately, Jake's worried babble fills the air, chattering on about how you need to pick up the phone, how he's so worried for you, how you ' _need to fucking answer him Dirk, come on_ '- things that slip through your mind like sand through your fingers. You're just so glad to hear his voice, so happy to have him in touch, that when you whimper and gasp within range of the receiver, you don't even care.

"Dirk? Dirk, buddy, are you okay?" His voice is high and frantic- no doubt he's thinking about all the bad things that could be happening to you while he's away. "Are you safe? Can you breathe okay? Dammit, Dirk, come on, answer me, talk to me, tell me what you need-"

"Need you," you pant, feeling your heartbeat flutter, your knees falling open as you try to present to an alpha that isn't even there. Your head rolls back, baring your throat in pure submission. "Need you right now."

There's a beat of silence, and then you hear Jake take a shaky breath, and then he says, with a voice that trembles with some indecipherable emotion: "I'm on my way."

For the first time since your heat started proper, you smile.

* * *

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit _shit_.

Your hands shake on the wheel of your car as you pull away from your parking space at Skaia.net, adrenaline clouding your mind. The work papers you threw haphazardly onto the passenger seat slip to the side as you turn onto the highway, then slide off and crash the floor; you curse, but don't stop. You're too focused on the mess you left at home to care about the mess you've made in your car.

Dirk is an omega. Dirk is an omega, and he's in heat, and _you fucking left him alone_.

You didn't scentmark your territory properly. You didn't ensure he ate his food or went to lie down properly, as you should have. Sure, you hadn't known he was in heat- but you should have caught it. You should have been able to tell that the change in his scent was from heat pheromones- you've caught a whiff of enough omegas in preheat, you should have known better! Sure, Dirk had had a very mild scent beforehand, and sure, it was usually half-covered by the various hair products and deodorants he put on every day- but he's your best friend, and someone you've been thinking of courting since you were sixteen. You love him. You should have known that he needed your assistance, you should have been able to tell that today was one of those days where he needed you to care for him. Now, he's alone in the house you share together, scared and in need of your attention, and where were you? At work. At _fucking_ work, where everything is running as smooth as a pickle and no one needed you anyways.

Dirk's voice comes to mind, and your knuckles turn white as you clench the wheel, remembering how breathy with arousal and desperation it had been, how he had said that he needed _you_. How it had been such a shock to you, but in the best of ways, an absent daydream come to life. It's not the first time that you've recalled it since you ended the call, and you're showing it; panicked though you are, you're already at half-mast, and you can feel the wild excitement of rut stirring in the back of your mind. You may have failed to notice Dirk's preheat, but at least you'll be able to give him whatever he needs when you get home, sate him in any way you can. It's the least you can do to make up for your absence.

You growl at the thought of it, low and possessive. Dirk's yours. He's _yours_ . You no longer have to wait by his side at bars and wonder if the men who sometimes caught his eye would steal his heart, too. You no longer have to spend painful nights awake, wondering if you would ruin your friendship by trying to court him. You no longer have to spend your ruts alone with your hand around your cock and your teeth biting into your wrist, wishing it was Dirk's hand wrapped around you and Dirk's neck between your jaws. You no longer have to do any of that stuff, because Dirk is in heat and it is _you_ that he wants to have buried in him, it's _you_ that he wants as his mate. And dagnabbit, it's going to be _you_ who gives him the best goddamned time of his life, who crafts his pain and his fear into ecstasy.

...Shit, you've read one too many of Roxy's trashy romance novels.

Speaking of which, you should probably tell Roxy that she'll need to fill in for you at Skaia.net while Dirk's heat goes on- and that Dirk is in heat. Dirk would probably be beyond embarrassed to have her know, but it's bound to happen sometime along the road, and not notifying her before disappearing completely off of the radar would be completely irresponsible. You're past your days of running from your problems, thank-you-very-much. It wouldn't be good to relapse now.

You've still got five minutes of driving left, even with you pushing the speed limit; there's no way you can text her without risking a fatal accident. Luckily for you, you're driving one of Skaia's test models for smartcars, one that Dirk himself spent hours wiring programming into. You're pretty sure if you just tried a thing, then maybe...

"Auto-driver," you state as clearly as you can, then cough, startled by how deep your voice has gotten. Shit, you're more affected than you thought you were. "Contact Roxy Lalonde. If she doesn't pick up her home phone, call her cellphone. This is an emergency."

The machine pings, broadcasts "Calling Roxy Lalonde" in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Dirk's. You bite your lip, focus on the road, and try not to groan in impatience.

Luckily for you, Roxy picks up her phone at the third ring. "Hello? Lalonde here? Wait, fuck, caller ID is a thing. Jakey boy, why are you calling?"

Hearing her voice relieves some of your nerves, as contacting your pack after a while tends to do. At least you know that she's okay; that's one less thing off your plate.

You drum your fingers on the steering wheel, thinking of how best to phrase what you're going to say. "I'm going to need you to fill in at Skaia this week, please." She makes a disapproving noise at the back of her throat, and you wince and hurry to explain before she can deny you outright. "Just for a week! Something has come up with Dirk. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent, promise!"

That catches her attention. "Wait, what? What's up with Dirk?" The worry in her voice makes you anxious in turn, setting you on edge. You grit your teeth and try to focus on the road. Your exit is coming up; you'll be home soon. "Jake, come on, spill the beans, I need to know what's up!"

You turn off your exit, entering the area where you live, and instantly feel a wave of relief at the familiarity of the neighborhood. Nearly there now, nearly there- "You know how Dirk never presented, and we just waved him off as a particularly unassuming beta?" Roxy makes a vague noise in reply- at least she doesn't immediately turn you down, like what you did to Dirk. You feel guilt slice through you like a knife to the chest. "Well, surprise surprise! He's not a beta at all- he's an omega, just a very late-blooming one. And he just went into heat, not too long ago."

Roxy is silent for a moment. "And you're going to help him with it."

Somehow, hearing her say it makes it feel a lot more real than you did before. You draw in a shaky breath, feeling excitement, nervousness, and anticipation flutter in your stomach. "I'm going to help him with it."

"And this is why you want me to take your week?" Roxy's voice is bubbly now, happy with a teasing edge, and you give the dashboard a shaky smile, just like what you would give to her if she could see it. "Aww, congrats kiddo! You're gonna spend a week smashing the man of your dreams! I'm so proud of you."

The light to your street flashes red. You glare at it and try to tamp down the urge to commit vandalism. "Erm, thanks? You're not going to lecture me about dubious consent issues or anything?"

"Oh no, it's no problem," Roxy says lightly. The damn street light isn't changing. There's an old lady with a walker creeping across the street, holding up the light, and though you are usually a gentleman of the finest caliber, you cannot help but wish that the laws of homicide in America were not quite so strict. "Dirk's been lusting for your cock for almost as long as I've known you, and though he is a man of great libido, he wouldn't want anyone he doesn't know to fuck him through his heat. You're the best bet he's got."

The old lady's now at least halfway across the street. Your ears are burning. "That's-"

"Oh, but remember, Jake." Roxy's voice cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, and though she still sings her words out sweetly, there's a cutting edge to them that you find quite terrifying. "You may be sweet for Dirk, but I've known him for longer than I've known you, and I have a sisterly obligation to him that you don't. If you break his heart, if you hurt him in any way that isn't accidental- because let's face it, Jake, you're much better than you once were, but you can still be quite stupid about handling certain situations- I can and I _will_ kick your ass. Maybe I'll go easier on you than I would if you were a stranger, because you're still pack and I love you, but drop out of line and that perfect booty going to get _wrecked_."

You gulp nervously, though deep down, you feel a flare of savage delight that Roxy is so willing to stand up for Dirk- delight that stems from knowing that no matter what happens, your mate (your mate! Cheese and crackers, you haven't even started courting Dirk proper yet! Though maybe years of maybe-flirting with him and moving in with him counts; surely there's a little bit of something for that, right?) will be in safe hands. "I understand perfectly well, ma'am! No butt-kicking will be required on this end, I can assure you on that."

Roxy cackled. "Oh, I know, Jake, I was just messing with you. How close are you to home?"

The old lady finished crossing to the other side. You let out an internal sigh of relief. "Nearly there. Just need to turn into our parking lot and I'll be golden."

"I'll end the call soon, then." The light changed to green. You bare your teeth in triumph and hit the gas, swerving the turn a little quicker than you probably should. "Oh, and Jake? I'll be telling Jane about this. She deserves to know."

You turn into the parking lot for the apartment building and carefully think it over, trying to figure out whatever path would cause the least heartbreak. Yes, Jane deserves to know, and excluding her from knowing about Dirk- one of her dearest friends- would be needlessly cruel. But she's an alpha, and the part of your brain whipping itself into rut snarls at the thought of her showing up at your doorstep-showing up in your _territory_ \- when you have an omega in heat.

You don't know how prominent that part of you may be after you get to Dirk. You love Jane, you really do, and you have no wish to hurt her- but instinct is instinct, and you've spent so many years letting yours run wild that you fear that you may not be able to restrain yourself in time to not attack her if she shows up without you expecting it.

"Jake?" Oh, right, Roxy. "Jake, are you okay with this?"

"Yes, I am, actually." You find a spot close to the staircase leading up to your apartment- bingo. Parking never felt so sweet. "But if she wants to send some food up for us, make sure that you take it and not her, okay? Jane is a sweetheart, but-"

"Oh my god, Jake, I'm not stupid." The exasperation in Roxy's voice brings a tense smile to your face as you turn your car off and wait for her to finish; you're not sure how much patience you have left in you. Dirk is _right there_ ; every part of you is screaming to drop everything and bolt up to your apartment, to bolt back to Dirk. "Blah, blah blah, territory boundaries, ruts, etc. I'm your beta! Keeping you guys from tearing each other apart is _literally_ my natural instinct! You should have more faith in me, Jakey, you're killin' me over here."

There's a sound of a distant meow and a crash. Roxy curses. "Alright, that's my cue to skadoosh. Damn meowcats, gettin' fuckin' everywhere- bye, Jake! Good luck, and congrats for the sex! I gotta go get Mutie out of the cat food before he makes himself puke again."

You're already halfway out the door, but you manage to let out a chuckle at Roxy's expense. "Goodbye, Roxy."

"Go get 'em, tiger."

There's a click as the phone hangs up, but by the time it goes off, your door is already shut, the lock is already in place, and you're already halfway up the stairs, taking two at a time. You're blessedly lucky that your downstairs neighbors are rather fond of traveling, and that your landlord doesn't live in the building itself; it's damn near difficult to run up a flight of stairs while sporting a stiffy.

Fumbling with the key seems to take an age. You always, _always_ tell yourself you're going to get some sort of indicator for your keys so you can tell them apart without hassle (maybe some coloured bands, like your grandmother used to do), but you always, always forget. Eventually though, you manage to find the house key, and, with a flare of triumph, you open the door.

The smell of heat hits you like a physical blow.

For a moment, you stand there, dumbfounded at the emotions rolling through you, at the instincts simmering beneath your skin, and then you come to your senses and slam the door closed before anyone outside catches a whiff, swiping your wrist against the frame for an extra level of security. Dirk, were he here with you, would probably scold you for that- but Dirk's not here with you right now. If your intuition is right, then he's holed up somewhere else in the house, desperate and out of his mind with the urge to mate. You can smell as much from his pheromones, under the sour tang of his fear and distress, and it's doing strange things to your mind, things that make you want to either punch a wall or pin him to the ground and fuck him senseless- or both.

If your dick was only half-interested before, it's fully interested now. Your pants chafe uncomfortably against you as you try to track Dirk's scent back to the source- you can already feel your knot getting ready to form, a heavy pulse of heat at the base, called to attention by the sweet scent of Dirk's pheromones. You can smell yourself too, an alpha on the verge of rut, and there's a rumbling in your chest that you're pretty sure will resolve itself into a full-on croon.

You've never crooned for anyone but Dirk before, never for any partner you've took in the past, never for any fling you've had in the days before Dirk where your ruts were rough and you didn't think you could bear to be alone. Crooning was for mates, for families, for soothing newborns as they cried. The old wives' tales always used to say that it was the sound of an alpha's love for who they held dearest pouring out of their body when their hearts were too full to hold it. Your grandmother always dismissed it as nothing more than a cute old fairytale, making a romantic picture out of a trait she was sure was nothing more than a failsafe for comforting children.

Standing in the kitchen with your heart in your throat, a croon in your chest, and Dirk's scent on your tongue, you're starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, the tale had a grain of truth in it after all.

Finding where Dirk is is easy enough; his scent trail grows more potent as you tilt your head in the direction of your room, and decreases in intensity when you turn towards his. This confuses you a little- you were sure that you read somewhere that omegas preferred to bed down somewhere familiar when in heat- but you can't help but feel a pleased little thrill at the thought that Dirk felt your room was the safest place for him to nest in. The whole house is yours in a sense, but it's also Dirk's; your room is the only area that is purely your territory, and the fact that that is where Dirk felt the most comfortable in fills your whole heart with rapturous delight. You can feel the rumble in your chest deepen, take on a slightly musical note, and, despite your haste to get to your room- to get to _Dirk_ \- you smile.

The scent of heat is almost overpowering now. Your heart pounds in your throat as you twist the knob, taking care to make noise so as to not startle the omega within, and- oh. He marked the door. He marked the door right where you pressed your wrist this very morning, the distinctive tang of his sea-salt-and-citrus scent heavy over yours. Possessiveness, heady pride, joy, an indescribable, wild sense of _rightness_ \- it all roars through you like a storm as you enter the room, swipe your wrist below the tangled mark you and Dirk made to present a _danger, do not enter_ sign to any and all trespassers, and latch the door securely behind you.

There's a pained whine as you enter, indistinct in its origin, and you shiver, eyes darting around the room as you try to locate where it came from. Your eyes skip over the covered window, linger on your stripped bed, and- oh. _Oh_. He tried to hide himself away under your bed. Oh, Dirk.

The joy of the hunt swirling away in your mind dissipates, replaced by an affection so tender it almost pains you. Your croon rumbles louder, sweeter, trying to soothe him, and you approach the tangle of sheets under your bed slowly, giving him time enough to warn you if he doesn't want you to approach. Your scent loses its wild edge, takes on the sweetness of an alpha trying to calm a pack member. You're an alpha tempered by the love you have for the omega hiding under your bed, and you don't have nearly enough presence of mind to be embarrassed by how much you're showing it.

You sink down to his level, careful to keep your body language as nonthreatening as possible, and are met with the welcome sight of Dirk's warm orange eyes. He's tucked down as small as he can go, and he looks like he's been crying; there are tear tracks shining on his face, and his face is flushed, hiding his freckles. It tugs at your heartstrings; softly, you croon at him, watch as his eyes flutter shut and is head tips back to bare his throat to you in pure and utter submission.

You feel that surge of possessiveness rise in you again, but you try your best to choke it down. You need to get Dirk out from under the bed, and precious though his trust in you is, you can't do it when he's focusing on presenting for you.

So you lay down on your side with him and press your hand to his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin burn you. He's hot, hot as fire, and he shivers as you touch him, presses back up against your palm to mark you, and moans. It's just about the hottest thing that's ever happened to you, and you have to force yourself to take a couple deep, slow breaths before you try to force yourself in there with him. You're very, _very_ sure that you won't fit quite so well as he managed- which, even then, is not so much.

Breathing deep only ensures you get a lungful of his pheromones, and he's started to make a low, whining growling noise that's going straight to your dick. You clench your teeth, struggling against the urge to grind against the carpet, and lift your hand away. Dirk reacts immediately, crying out in a way that makes the alpha within you roar in response, and you struggle to remain in control, struggle not to give into temptation and claw your way under the bed so can kiss him the way he's practically begging for.

Instead, you clench your free fist tight and lay your hand back down on his neck, sliding it down to rest on his bare shoulder. Blearily, he opens his eyes to look at you again, shifting under your grip, and you smile at him, whispering a quiet _'hey'_.

He groans in response, which you decide to take as a good sign. At least he's conscious enough to try to respond. "Hi there, Dirk. You've got yourself worked up in a right tizzy, haven't you?"

He closes his eyes, dipping his head down in what you assume is a half-hearted nod. His shoulders are still shifting, moving back and forth, presumably from the arm still tucked away under the blanket he's all tangled up in, all restless, needy energy. You lick your lips, consider the angle he's at, and then stroke your hand up his shoulder to grip firmly at the back of his neck.

Your biology lessons on omegas were correct: he goes limp. If you remember correctly, getting scruffed without fair warning can be uncomfortable for most, but all Dirk does is take a deep, shuddering breath and look at you with eyes half open.

Again, you are staggered by his trust in you, in awe of just how easily he gives himself over, and again, you must smother it down so you can focus on getting him out from under the bed. Blast him for being so damned perfect, able to make you forget what you need to do by just plain _existing_. "Now, I'm quite sorry for grabbing you like this-" he makes a small noise of what you assume is protest- "but you're not looking so good, my fine fellow, and I need you to come out of there for me so I can help you." His eyes widen slightly, a hint of instinctual nervousness shining through them, and you croon at him softly, stroking your thumb over the back of his neck to calm him. "Can you do that for me, Dirk? Can you come out for me?"

He makes a soft, nervous trilling noise, almost like a bird, and you relax your hold on his neck, giving him control over his limbs again. As soon as you let go, he starts wiggling forward, easing himself out from under the bed. You rumble your approval and encouragement to him, sitting up so he has more room, and help him as he tries to drag the blankets along with him, likely unwilling to leave his nest.

He has some difficulty with sitting up, stumbling the first time he tries. You grab onto the arm closest to you, steadying him, and his other hand jerks out from where it's been hiding so that he can find his balance, clamping down onto your forearm with fingers that are wet and slick with something that smells musky-sweet, something that makes your dick twitch in your pants.

Oh.

It's slick.

Your mind blanks. Distantly, you are aware that you're making a rumbling noise that sounds suspiciously possessive, but you're too busy focusing on the scent of sex smeared on your skin, on watching Dirk shift and the blanket falling away, exposing the fact that he's not just shirtless, as you first thought, but absolutely, completely buck naked.

He's a masterpiece of slender, corded muscles, trim hips, freckles scattered over pale skin like stars in the night sky, scars from the toils of his life comet trails through the constellations. His slender, pretty cock is hard and flushed red at the tip, leaking precome onto his stomach- he shifts, leans back, and his legs fall open, exposing his hole, which is red and wet from him fingering himself. He's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, a dream breathed into life- and here you are, staring at him like a buffoon, completely clothed and harder than you think you've been in your entire life.

You loathe the invention of clothes with every fiber of your being.

Dirk shivers with uncertainty, bites his lip, and bares his throat at you again. It's clear permission to fuck him, and oh _god_ , you think you're just about the luckiest man on Earth. You're the luckiest man in the galaxy, probably. You're so blessed to have Dirk Strider, mastermind of mindfuckery, a goddamn enigma of a man who smiled with his eyes and laughed like his happiness startled him, you're so blessed to have him here and with you and so, so vulnerable like this.

So you do the first thing you promised yourself you'd do when you learned he was in heat and that he wanted you to be the one who mated him.

You kiss him.

You kiss him like you wanted to do when you were sixteen and you first realized you fell for him. You kiss him like you wanted to do when you found him drunk in the bathroom of a bar with a collar of hickeys around his neck and cum on his cheek, stinking of an alpha that you never met and never wanted to know, because if you did, you would punch their lights out. You kiss him like you wanted to when he walked shirtless in front of you for the first time and you saw the cigarette marks his uncle burned onto his back, scars that he dismissed with a lightness in his voice and a distance in his eyes that scared you.

He makes a muffled noise of surprise into your mouth, and then the fire kindling in your belly roars to life, because he wraps his arms around your neck and kisses you back.

Something inside of you snaps, all your self-control flying out the window, and you push yourself against him, pressing him back against the floor. You trail your hand down his stomach, ghost your fingers over his dick, and then you close your hand over it and start to work at it, using the slick smeared on his taint and the precome beading on the tip as lube. He groans into your mouth, hips bucking with your grip, and one of his hands takes a firm hold of your hair, sending needle-like prickles of pleasure down your spine as he tugs at it. Everything is hot, hot, hot against you- you can feel his body heat through your shirt, his slick and precome is smearing over your nice work clothes, and you can't bring yourself to care. His legs wrap around you, the scent glands on his inner thighs rubbing his mark onto you, and though you're pretty sure you're going to be smelling Dirk's heat-scent on your clothes for weeks, the thought of it sends a thrill through your body. It feels _right_ to have his scent marked all over your body- it feels _right_ for you to be deemed as _his_ , for him to lay his claim on you, scream to the world that you're _his, his, his_ . You break away from the kiss, gasping for breath, and then return the favor, tangling your free hand in his hair so you can bring his neck to yours and slide your scent gland against his, the wild chant of your instincts in your mind screaming _mine, mine, mine_.

He gasps something that sounds like your name but is sung like a prayer, in a voice raspy from all the times he must have cried for you. He turns his head, mouths along your jaw, and you shudder as he nips at the soft spot behind your ear and sucks a mark into your skin. His scent is sweet, musky, a drug, and it burns in your nose as you pull your head back and do the same to him, pressing the tips of your canines playfully against his neck. He growls in response, soft, catlike- not yet. Not time to bond him yet. You subside, press an apologetic kiss to the side of his neck, and swipe your thumb over the slit of his dick, making him stiffen and cry out against your throat.

Distantly, you realize that you can't go on like this, at least not where you are now. Dirk may have carpet and blankets piled between him and the hardwood floor, but it's not a finished nest- he'll hurt his back if you fuck him like this. Not to mention the fact that you're still fully clothed, and that his heat means that if you knot him without a condom on there's roughly a ninety percent chance of a little bundle of joy that neither of you are even close to ready for arriving nine months down the way.

"Dirk," whisper, groaning as he scrapes his teeth down the side of your neck. He's still humping your fist, but it's quickly becoming clear that he's getting frustrated- he needs your knot before he can cum, and you know that if he starts to beg for it, you won't be able to say no. He's got you completely wrapped around his little finger. "Dirk, we can't do this here."

He whines petulantly and nips you under the jaw, trying to convince you otherwise; you tighten your hand in his hair and pull his head down, just a little, and he stops immediately, panting from exertion. There's tears in his eyes again- you're edging him mercilessly, you _know_ that, and hot though it is, you're not sure if either of you have the stamina to play around with that concept right now. You haven't had any relief other than grinding against his thigh, and he's been miserably aroused for god-knows-how-long. You grit your teeth and add a little bit of force to your tone, something that you haven't tried before. "Dirk. Up on the bed. Now."

This time, your omega scrambles to comply, sliding back out of your grip just enough so he can catch hold of his blankets and try to rise. It doesn't work very well; he's loose with heat and shaky with arousal, so you do your best to help things along, and pick him up to place on the bed yourself. The surprised noise he makes in reply and the pheromones he releases in return are enough to tell you just what he thought of that particular action, and you grin deviously, thoroughly enjoying the hungry way he looks at your lips as they curve upwards.

Right. Condoms. You have some alpha-grade ones in your drawer from your last rut, for those times where you popped a knot and were just too sleepy or too distracted to rush to the bathroom to deal with the cleanup that resulted from releasing copious amounts of semen over a twenty-minute time period. That wasn't too long ago from now- they should be perfectly fine. You rifle through your bedside table, searching for the box, then snag a couple and toss them onto the bed with a grin of triumph.

Dirk's managed to circle the blankets around him in a vaguely nest-shaped lump while you were searching for the condoms, and now he lays there with his neck bared and his legs wide open, watching you through hazy eyes as you loosen your tie and slip out of your shirt. His eyes roam greedily over your body, drinking in the sight of you like he's a lost man out in a desert and you're the only damn oasis in sight. It sends a thrill down your spine, watching him watch you, and you look him the eyes and dare him to not look away as you slowly unlatch your belt, unbutton your pants, and slide both them and your underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving you fully naked in front of him.

He breaks away from your gaze so he can look at your dick, but you don't look away from him, so you see it when his cheeks darken and his eyes hood and he licks his lips in anticipation. Your heart throbs hard in your chest, nervous, but also excited out of your damn mind, because it suddenly seems a whole lot more real to you now, with your clothes off and Dirk's eyes roaming over your body, that this is happening, that you are actually here, you are actually going to fuck Dirk Strider senseless.

He tilts his head, beckoning to you, and you reach forward to grab one of the condom packets. One of them is missing; you frown, mutter a quiet 'what the-' under your breath, and then jump as you hear a rip and look up to see Dirk sitting up with a condom ready in his hands, the foil packet clamped firmly between his teeth.

"Oh," you breathe, climbing up onto the bed with him, your eyes fluttering shut as he slides it down your dick and you are finally, _finally_ touched. "Oh, what a _good boy_."

Dirk shivers at that, spits the empty wrapper to the side and croaks out a "You're welcome." His voice is still rough, and his words are whispered, as if even a simple acknowledgement is hard to put to words- his body language speaks louder than his words, however, and it's his body language that you watch as you wrap a hand around your cock and grab a hold of one of his legs to spread him wide. You press your dick to his and rock gently against him, movements languid, even as every part of you screams to bury yourself inside of him; for once, Dirk is quiet, and you want to commit this image to memory, to burn it into your mind so you may never forget it for as long as you live.

You can feel your heart in your throat.

"Last time to back out," you warn, not because you think he will, but because you want him to know that he has another option. Dirk's only response is to wrap his legs around your hips and to dig his heels into the small of your back, urging him closer to you, bowing you down until his mouth is next to your ear and your nose is pressed into his pulse.

"Jake," he breathes, and your hips stutter, your dick slipping against his balls as you clumsily rock forward, trying to line up against him. "If you insinuate for one goddamned second that I do not want this, then I will pin you to this bed and ride you until I make damn well sure that you know otherwise."

That's all the confirmation you need.

You grab the back of his head, pulling him towards you so you can kiss him hard, and then you line yourself up and push in. You slide right in, swallowing his startled cry; he's practically dribbling slick, he's been edged for so long, and he's already been loosened up from his fingers and his heat enough for you to enter with relative ease. He clenches down hard on your cock, engulfing you in heat; you whine his name against his lips, tilting your head so you can lick into his mouth. He opens up for you eagerly, pressing his tongue against yours just as fervently, and groans out something that sounds like a mangled combination of your name and "fuck, _finally_."

It's the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to you. _He's_ the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to you. You pull out, thrust your hips back in hard, and the noise he makes in response is absolutely _feral_ , a wild cry that strikes a chord right in the part of your brain that is just pure alpha, makes you growl and bite at his throat, just above his adam's apple. His pulse flutters under your teeth- you can _taste_ the scent of his heat, this close to his scent glands, it's a heady fucking _rush_ , he's a drug and you can't seem to get enough of him, and he can't seem to get enough of you, if the way he's tilting his hips up to meet your thrusts is any indication. It changes the angle, drives you deeper, and you know the exact moment you find his sweet spot, because he growls out a half-mangled curse and does it again, and again, and you can't stop the whining huffs and growls you're making as you fuck him, you can't stop yourself from leaning down and biting at the junction of his shoulder like you would if you were going to bond him.

He cries out, scrambling at your back- he's going to leave scratches, he's going to leave marks, and some part of you savagely thinks _good_ \- and bites you back, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as you drive into him. The pain burns deliciously, the vibration of his teeth against your flesh as he growls possessively driving you wild. You can feel your knot starting to form, starting to prevent you from fucking him as deeply as you were before; and though you want nothing more than to bury it in him and grind against him until you come, you meet resistance when you try to push it in, and so you slow, not wanting to hurt him.

Dirk _snarls_.

"Put it _in_ ," he growls, words muffled by your skin. His heels dig into your ass, pressing your knot into him- there's wild desperation in his voice under the growl, he's wrecked and he's begging and he's vicious because of it. You tighten your hold on him- you're going to leave bruises, you're going to leave marks all over his pretty pale skin- and press forward, but don't fully comply, because he's beautiful like this, and also because you're still worried you might be too much for him. Dirk whines and bucks his hips again."C'mon, _give it_ to me _, please_ , I _want_ it, I _need_ it, fuck, Jake, come on-"

His plea for you shatters your resolve completely. Instinct takes over; you grab his hips, pull him in as he pushes forward, and you groan as you feel him stretch open wider for you, as you thrust forward and your knot pops in, locking the two of you together.

Dirk stiffens against you, lets out a piercing cry, and comes hard, spurting cum all over your stomach. You moan at the heat of it against your skin, at the way he clenches tight around you and sinks his teeth deeper into your shoulder, and then your dick throbs and the warmth in your stomach reaches a crescendo, and you come.

Everything's a white-hot haze of heat and pleasure and the feeling of your knot swelling, locking you tighter against Dirk, locking you as deep in him as you can possibly go. You keep rocking your hips forward, riding your orgasm out- it doesn't stop for a long, long while, drawn out longer by Dirk's heat, by his pheromones, by his need to be knotted and bred. Your mind is fuzzy, oblivious to anything but the warmth in your belly and the feeling of Dirk squeezing around you. It's the best damn orgasm you've ever had.

When you finally come down, there's a warm body pressed underneath you and fingers in your hair, stroking quietly through your sweat-tangled locks. Your fogged-up glasses are digging painfully into your nose. There's also a very red, very angry-looking bite mark right in front of your face; you lick apologetically at it and press a kiss to it, trying to soothe the sore skin.

Dirk shifts under you, and the quiet, content cooing noise fluttering in his throat grows louder. There's a rumbling in your throat, a rumbling that you realize is the sound of you crooning; everything feels like it's coming back online in fits and starts, sensation flooding back into you bit by bit.

"Welcome back," Dirk murmurs at you, finally noticing that you're awake again. The hand not stroking through your hair fumbles for your glasses, pulls them off and places them somewhere outside the nest, where they're least likely to get rolled onto. "Congratulations at coming back to the land of the living."

You take a moment to tuck your face into his neck and breathe before you reply. He smells like you, and you smell like him, and something about that tingles in your belly, something in you thinks that's _just right_. Dirk is warm and pliant underneath you, all wrapped up and tucked away in your arms, and that feels right, too. "Mmm, I'm glad I'm back. Was that okay?"

Dirk chuckles incredulously. You feel a pang of embarrassment flare through you, and promptly bury your face into his neck to hide your blush. "Was that _okay?_ It was the best damn orgasm I've had in a long fuckin' while. Like holy shit, dude, I wouldn't be more satisfied unless I fucked God, and even then God ain't got nothing on your dick. 'What's your religion?' some bitchy old Christian grandma could ask me, probably thirsty for some juicy 'Jesus-was-an-omega' discourse, and I would look her dead in her wrinkly-ass eyes and tell her 'Jake-fucking-English's cock.' That's it. She could scream on and on and on about the blasphemies and sins of my mortal life and I would just stand there, unrepentant, uncaring, letting her scream on and on about soul-cleansing or whatever while people just goin' about their business as usual stop and stare in alarm. Keep screamin', grandma, all you're gonna get is silence."

He's fine. His voice sounds raw, and his words are slurred with exhaustion, but he's fine. You smile against his skin, amused by his ramblings, and then chuckle when he seems to realize what he's saying and snaps his jaw shut, stiffening in embarrassment.

"But really," he says, voice softening. One of his fingers presses lightly at the base of your skull, tracing swirling patterns into your skin. "Thanks for helping me with this. You uh. You didn't have to do that."

He sounds shy all of a sudden, shy and distantly sad. You frown at that, prop yourself up onto his chest so you can look him in the eyes, and he averts his gaze immediately, cheeks flushing. There's a hard, unhappy set to his mouth, a guilty look on his face that would have alarmed you, had you not been able to recognize it for what it was; Dirk's famous self-loathing, back at it again with convincing him that he somehow manipulated everyone into liking him, that he was a horrible burden who wasn't worthy of love or kindness.

A few years ago, you wouldn't have been able to to recognize it. A few years ago, you would have thought that his shying away was because of you, and you would have shoved it into the back of your mind and danced away from the matter, running away because you were a coward who didn't want conflict, who didn't want to deal with the pains of arguing with your best friends. Now, you see it for what it is, and you deal with it with a swift, effective killing blow as you rise forward and press your mouth firmly to the hard, pained line of Dirk's, determined to kiss away his grief, determined to prove to him that yes, this is what you want, yes, this is what you _need_.

"You think I don't want _this?_ " You growl, rolling your hips forward. Dirk gasps and shudders, overstimulated, and you take the opportunity to kiss him deeper, to press your tongue to his teeth and drag it across the roof of his mouth. Point proven, you pull back- feeling a spark of triumph at the way he gasps for breath- and then lean down, rubbing the side of your neck vigorously against his, marking him again. It's an act of pure possession, and it's probably out of line, but you're balls-deep in the man of your dreams, locked together in the most intimate way possible, and some demon in his mind is still trying to convince him that it's all fake. You're furious at it. You're furious that at some point in his life, something or someone- _and you have a niggling fucking suspicion that you know_ just _who that someone is_ \- put into his mind the idea that he's not worth it, and the alpha in you is roaring that you must kill it, that you must tear it down and rip it to shreds so that your omega may be as safe and happy and satiated as he needs- no, _deserves_ to be under your care. You pull away from him, kiss a scar striping over his collarbone, press your thumb to his chin and your forefinger under it so you may tip his chin up and look him in the pretty orange eyes you love so much. "Dirk, please, believe me when I say that there's nothing more that I wanted than this. I've wanted this for years, actually. I just, uh" you falter, lose a little steam as you get embarrassed again. "I just never knew how to court you proper. I'm not the most romantic person, as you well know, and I wanted everything to be perfect. It...kind of slowed me down for a while."

Dirk's eyes are wide open, sparkling with shock and something that looks just a little bit like awe. It's hard to look at him directly- he's like the sun, and you are but a desperate Icarus, begging to be burned. You look away, cheeks and ears burning, and now it's Dirk's turn to grab you and force you to look at him. He's flushed just as much as you are, but there's a tiny smile on his lips, an amused crinkle in the corner of his eyes, and that's enough to capture your attention, to keep it there and to listen to him as he says, with a near-silent laugh, "Dude. I know exactly fuck-all about romance. You could have literally done anything as simple as set out a couple paper plates of Kraft's macaroni and cheese and I would have thought 'holy shit, this alpha can provide.' You could have decked some bitchy old lady for my honour and I would have been completely fucking wooed. Fuck, you could have stripped naked, painted yourself blue, and lit a shitty little candle you bought at Dollar Tree and I would have _still_ been like 'damn, this is probably the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.' I'm not exactly a hard man to win, Jake- I'm a Strider. We're more used to winning than being won. Fuckin' tactical disadvantage of the worst kind, if you ask me."

He runs his knuckles down the back of your neck, and though you are no omega, the pressure soothes you. You close your eyes and rest your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and the cadence of his voice as he talks to you. "Like damn, this is the most romantic fucking thing that has ever happened to me, and I'm counting that time Roxy and I dated in middle school and she immediately broke up with me because it quickly became very clear that I was a dicks-only kind of man. Broke my heart, man, and I wasn't even into her in the first place. I think I got a ring pop out of that date? Yeah. At least I got fucked for this one. That's some next level shit right there."

"But this isn't a date!" you protest, sitting up as fast as you can so you can pout at him. He looks right back at you with a soft smile on his face, completely relaxed against the sheets, his messy hair spread around his head like a halo. Your heart flutters in your chest, but you forge on, determined to make him see your point. He's worth _more_ than a shitty ring pop and a fucking, dammit! "You went into heat without knowing what to do, or what was even going on in the first place! You were in pain! All I did was barge in and stick my dick in you to make it stop! You're worth at least a dinner and a movie, mister Strider, come on now!"

He snorts at that, smiles a little sleepily. You can feel the drowsiness tugging at you, too- the post orgasmic hormones are kicking in, trying to make sure you get enough rest before his next cycle starts, but you strive to put them out of your mind and stay awake so you can listen to him more. "Don't call me mister Strider, that's my bro's name. I ain't Hollywood." He yawns, making you yawn along with him. "And besides, I still have your dick locked away hostage inside my body, and you haven't tried to tug it out yet. I count that as pretty fuckin' romantic."

You yawn again, snuggle down onto him again. He's thin, but his shoulders are broad enough for you to rest on him comfortably, and he's warm, a perfect little heat pack. You love the way you fit against him, the way you rest your cheek against his collarbone and he rests his foot against the back of your thigh. "I wouldn't call it 'holding hostage', exactly. More like 'secure'. My dick feels very, very safe right now. I'm happy with it."

"Fucking amazing." He shifts, rests his arms more comfortably against your back. You trace constellations out of his freckles, smiling as he trails his fingers down one of the scratches he left on you with a wince. "Aw, fuck, sorry for that. It looks like one of Roxy's cat's got to you."

Oh, Roxy. Fuck. "Speaking of which," you say, carefully bracing yourself for his reaction. "I told her that you're in heat. I called her when I was in the car, and she said that she was going to tell Jane, so don't be surprised if she shows up later this week with a basket of omega-friendly baked items and about ten thousand different recommendations for esoteric sex toys."

Dirk goes rigid under your grasp. You frown at him, at the sharp smell of fear rolling off of him, and rub your cheek soothingly against his chest, tilting your head so that you may look up at him without getting up. His face is perfectly blank- he's anxious. You're not quite sure why, but you think you have an idea. "Dirk. They deserved to know. And they're not going to judge you- you'll still be the Dirk that they loved today as you were yesterday, if not with a little more feralness about you."

Dirk takes in a shuddering breath. You wait, resting your hands against his arms, preparing yourself to deal with a panic attack- but he exhales, and breathes in again, long and steady, and then does it again, and again. The tension relaxes from his body, the fear dissipating from his scent, and you relax, knowing that the danger has passed.

"Yeah. Yeah, they do." He rubs a hand over his face with a grimace. "It's just- fuck. I'm a little sensitive right now for whatever fucking reason. All this heat is fucking with my head, blowing shit up to make everything seem twice as bad." He shifted until he was more comfortable under you, sliding his arm farther down your back. "I don't even know what the fuck I was worried about. All Roxy would do is tease me, which she does anyways, and all Jane would do is fuss over me more, which is already kind of her thing. It's fine."

"S' probably your hormones." Clinging onto consciousness is getting harder by the second; holding your head up is difficult, so you rest it back onto Dirk's chest, adjusting yourself until you can hear his heartbeat. "We'll look it up later. Speaking of omega-friendly food, though, when was the last time you ate? Heat burns a lot of calories, and you didn't exactly bulk up to prep for it. You're going to need food sometime soon."

Dirk makes a disgusted noise, though he sounds just as sleepy as you are. "Fuck if I know. Didn't finish breakfast this morning though. Wasn't exactly feeling up to it."

"We'll get food when we wake up, then. Pizza or something." You yawn, already nodding off. "You okay with that?"

Dirk makes a noncommittal humming noise. Whether that counted as a yes or a no, you have no clue; you're already asleep, lulled to rest by your post-orgasmic contentedness and the warmth of your omega in your arms.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow can u believe it's been a fucking year. Wild.
> 
> Anyways, I finally got myself off my ass and managed to finish it off in a way that I actually somewhat liked, despite it being nearly 2 am where I'm at. Turns out that I'm only producive at night for some reason. Wack.
> 
> Hope you enjoy

     You don’t know if Jake’s ordered pizza by the time you wake up, because when you finally roll around to doing so, you awaken to a rock-hard dick and an aching emptiness inside you that takes whatever scraps of rationality you had left in you and throw them soundly into the trash. You only have enough of a presence of mind to whine and spread your legs for him, an instinctual action that you follow through without even opening your eyes, and when two warm hands grab onto your hips and tug you back onto his dick- well. It’s safe to say that anyone would forget about a manner as trivial as sustenance when they have Jake English’s cock splitting them open. It’s what you tell yourself as you slump forward on his chest after you’ve both come, body buzzing pleasantly at the way his knot stretches you open, mind numbed with a mixture of sleepiness and feel-good hormones. Fuck. You don’t usually like being out of the loop of things, but- wow. This is the only exception- and for once, you can’t find any possible example to figure out how you may have fucked this up. You can’t exactly blame yourself for being in heat, anymore than you can gather the energy to think about how fucking far gone you are. All you can think about is the pleasure thrumming through your body, your orgasm drawn out by the knot pressing into your prostate, keeping the heat at bay. You think you read something about this in biology- something about how an alpha’s knot puts pressure on certain nerves of the reproductive tract and sends signals to the brain to dial back the heat hormones- but despite how interesting that train of thought is, you can’t seem to follow it like you’d normally would. All that matters to the animal in your mind is that your mate is with you, you are safe, and you’re currently tied to him in a way that ensures that he’s not going anywhere in a hurry. All is well.

So by the time his knot goes down and you rise up out of your haze, aided by the warm stroke of Jake’s fingers through your hair, any thought about pizza has completely fled your mind- and so it’s somewhat of a shock to see Jake smiling fondly at you with his phone held to his ear, the soft, mechanical sound of a dial tone ringing out into the relative quiet of the room. He mouths a ‘good morning, Dirk’, and takes his hand out of your hair to get you a bottle of water, but still, it takes a few rather puzzling seconds before you realize just what the hell is going on, and another few seconds when your heat-addled brain tries to decide whether or not you should be wary of it, which somewhat derails the mental train of ‘oh fuck’ onto a different track entirely, one that you, luckily, managed to put a quick stop to before it could devolve into a situation of complete panic and paranoia- by nuzzling against the scent glands on Jake’s chest, and allowing yourself to get lost in that thick, comforting alpha scent. Were you more awake right now, and a bit more coherent of thoughts that were not wholeheartedly convinced you were some feral beast hiding in the underbrush, you’d probably find some irony to a single whiff of pheromones calming you down far more efficiently than the so-called best anxiety pills on the market.

As it was, however, you were far from being awake, and far, far away from not being an instinctual mess. The dial tone had stopped ringing, and the person on the other end of the phone had picked up, an irritating, foreign babble of words that had an irate growl rumbling in your throat before you even had a chance to realize why you were so fuckin’ bothered by it. 

“Hello, this is Dominos, may I take your order?” The voice on the other side of the receiver didn’t sound anything like anybody you knew, and alarm bells rang in your mind, fear of intrusion and territorial rage surging in your blood. The omega in your mind snarled, and you, without thinking, answered it, curling your lip up to flash your canines at the general direction of where it was coming from, bite to enforce your bark. Jake frowned at you, his broad shoulders tensing to reflect your stress, but he seemed more baffled than worried by your actions, which in turn calmed you down somewhat. If he wasn’t stressed out about it, then you should be safe...right?

The thought sounds ridiculous as soon as it stops forming in your head, and you hunch in on yourself, embarrassed that you could be so blatantly upset about something as minor as the voice of a stranger on a phone. Your heat has taken a toll on your self-control, replacing logic and reason with raw instinct, and you aren’t too happy about it.

“Hullo! This is Jake English here, and I’d be practically tickled pink if you could take my order, thank you!” Jake’s warm hand descended upon your neck, massaging against your scruff, and you felt the tension melt out of your body with each gentle roll of his fingers, your muscles going limp as he gently, but firmly, pressed you down. A simple act of domination, yet the effect on you was profound, as the anxious thoughts clattering around in your brain lost their power. Jake was asking you to relax, to listen to him and trust his lead, and, caught like a moth to the flame, you found yourself unable to turn away. Jake was asking you to listen. Jake was asking you to be good, to trust that he had you, that he wouldn’t let you burn. Ordinarily, you’d resist it- try to pull away, caught in the fear that it would be  _ you _ who would burn him instead- but for now, you’re helpless. 

So you do exactly what Jake tells you to do. You submit.

With a soft whine and a huff, you press yourself against him, letting yourself go boneless. His hand slackened on the nape of your neck, freeing you, and you turn your head so that your scent glands are exposed, so that the edge of his thumb presses against one of the bruises he left there. The sweet ache of it sends a pulse of heat through you, warm and pleasant, and his breath hitches with the soft croon that escapes your throat at the gentle pain, eyes hooding, his tongue flicking against the tip of his teeth like he’s contemplating biting you again.

It’s an affecting look, and you’re just about to offer him your throat when the person on the other end of the receiver asks a question, tinny and confused. Jake startles under you, a slight jerk that pushes his knot deeper into you, tugging against your rim. It’s nothing like a full fuck- and yet it stirs the beast in you to life anyways, makes your half-hard cock twitch in interest. 

“Ah, uh, my apologies, got a little distracted there.” Jake babbles on about something about toppings and discounts, but you don’t pay any attention to any of it. There’s a deep, throbbing pulse wracking your body, the fires of your heat flickering weakly as you slowly begin to rock your hips, grinding down against Jake’s knot, rubbing your dick up against his abdomen. It’s a slower fuck than the last few ones you’ve done, and much more limited; but you enjoy it nonetheless, for now you can really feel the burn that runs through you when you try to thrust down, the aching, deep tingle of Jake locked deep inside you. Softly, you whine, a long, low noise pulled from somewhere deep within your throat, and then Jake curses, mumbles a quick excuse to the baffled receiver, tosses the phone aside, and sits up, pulling you along with him so that he can hold you close and bury his throat in your neck.

You are so, so warm.

Jake’s teeth scrape your scent gland, the sharp points of his eyeteeth pressing down in the shadow of a mating bite- a silent promise, not quite a proclamation of territory as much the offer of one. A proposal. In his arms, you are his, but he cannot stake his claim without you making the first move. And while the heat has burned away much of your senses, you cannot take him up on it just yet, and respond instead with a gentle kiss, and a slow thrust forward, reminding him of your need.

Jake drops his hand to your dick almost immediately, pressing his thumb to your slit, and you arch forward with a pleased hum, nipping gently at his jawline as you rock into his hand. The soft, crooning rumble of a happy alpha filled the air, and before you had the chance to croon back, he was kissing you, soft and sweet, as you gasped and shook and came into his hand. 

“There we go, my sweet. There we go.” Jake wipes your cum on the sheets lying just outside your nest’s wall, sweeping his hand up your back, and you’d glare sleepily at him for it, if it wasn’t for the warmth suffusing his beautiful green eyes, the soft smile that sends a throb through your heart that feels almost painful. You love him. You love him so much that it hurts, though you can’t quite tell if what hurt you the most was falling for him, or how he carefully picked up your pieces and put you back together. Healing was pain, after all- but it’s hard to think of that, when you’re all wrapped up and warm like this, safe and sleepy in your alpha’s arms. “Feel better now? Dirk?”

“Mrrgh.” You do feel better, but you also feel exhausted, and speaking takes up far more energy than you feel is strictly necessary at the moment. Still, he’s warm and comfortable and perfect for laying on (even if you are slightly taller than him, perched on his lap as you are), so you let your actions speak for themselves, and slump forward so you can tuck your face into the crook of his neck. Here is where his scent is the strongest, sweet and spicy and safe, and you nuzzle lightly at the skin with your nose and press your teeth gently against his throat, a soft promise of a bite. “Mmmmm.”

“Well, that’s a first. For once, I’ve made Dirk Strider practically fucking speechless.” Jake’s laugh is soft and happy, warm enough to make you melt. It’s as comforting to you as his croon, if not just a little more familiar, and you smile against his skin, let him know what you think of him with a short, content rumble instead of trying to muster the energy to mouth off. He’s obviously quite proud of himself for managing to turn you into a puddle, and you have enough bad memories of his past self-esteem issues to know that he probably won’t get a big head out of it.

(And if he does...well. A confident Jake is a happy Jake, and there’s nothing better in your eyes than a happy Jake English, as long as any Avatar references stay firmly out of sight and mind.)

You both lay like that, wandering in an out of consciousness, until Jake’s knot goes down. The feeling of him slipping out of you is strange, and you tense, whining softly at the empty chasm he leaves behind. Jake apologizes with a soft, soothing rumble and a kiss on the cheek, them sets about rearranging the nest, turning the pillows and blankets about until the cum and slick stuck to it is buried somewhere out of sight. You’d protest, except then he starts rearranging  _ you _ **,** carefully laying you down and covering you with an overhang of quilts and various bedding that smells like him and you combined, and the sheer comfort and knowledge that your alpha was taking care of you was enough to calm you down.

“There,” he whispers, and the smile he gives you is fragile- almost as if he’s afraid to show it, as if he thinks that whatever just happened was nothing but a dream. You make a soft, cooing noise deep in your throat, trying to soothe him, and the smile on his face becomes a little more real, crinkles appearing in the skin around his deep green eyes. You’d never liked the colour green before you met Jake; now you’re in love with it, and, cheesy though it may be, you think you’re getting a little lost in his eyes. Or maybe you’re just delirious. Or both. You’re not exactly working at your highest capacity right now. “Now you’re all nestled up perfectly. Stay here a bit, Dirk. I got to get you some water.”

You hum an affirmative at him, and close your eyes, your exhaustion dragging you down. There’s a slight feeling of vulnerability tugging at the back of your mind once Jake leaves, but it’s nowhere near the anxiety you felt at the beginning of the heat, surrounded by his scent as you are. It’s enough comfort for you to doze comfortably until he comes back with a cup of water and some wet wipes, and gets to work on cleaning you off. It’s just a little bit uncomfortable for you- usually, you’re the one who likes to take care of him, if you can- but the omega part of your brain purrs at your alpha taking such good care of you, and you know that him taking care of you would soothe whatever nerves he has lingering from before your heat. So you sit back, and let him work, focusing on sipping your water slowly so you don’t make yourself sick. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were before now, and you shudder to think of what might have happened to you if you hadn’t had someone with you to make sure you drank. Not for the first time, you are grateful that Dave managed to find a caring mate in Karkat; after what had happened at home before you left, you were almost certain that he would never trust anyone when he was vulnerable ever again. 

“Hey,” you say, once Jake has stopped fussing over you long enough to listen. He stops wrestling with the wipes packaging and snaps to attention instantly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. It’s cute, and you chuckle softly at him while he blushes, tilting the glass at him so he can see the remaining water sloshing around at the bottom. “You should drink, too. Spraying water into your mouth from the kitchen faucet isn’t enough to stay hydrated.”

Jake’s flush deepens, but he takes the glass from you with a smirk that you know means mischief. “At least I  _ remembered  _ to drink  _ something _ . Unlike you, who seems to think that the only  _ acceptable _ beverage is months-old orange soda, which I haven’t the faintest darnedblasted idea of how you manage to stomach all that bullshit.” He downs the rest of the water in a couple gulps and leans over to you, cupping your face in his hands. Even with the callouses from a life in the wilderness, his hands are soft, and you find yourself leaning into the warmth of them on instinct, taking solace in his touch. Even as heat-dazed as you are, you don’t think you miss the warmth that floods his eyes, the soft way that he smiles at you. Damn. Why didn’t you do this before now, again? “What the shitting hell, Dirk, that stuff is gross.”

“Hey man, don’t diss the orange.” You scoot over a little bit and roll onto your back, leaning your head against his thigh. He’s put on some boxers, which at once relieves and disappoints you- relief, because otherwise you think the sight of his dick would send you into another heat wave, disappointed because despite your exhaustion, you’re still half-hard and aching for it. Ah, hormones. “Dave bought ‘em for me on a bet, there’s no way in hell that I’m going to throw the out when they’re still good. And besides, it’s free sugar.”

“‘Good’ is an exaggeration, I think,” Jake mutters, but he doesn’t push the issue, focusing instead on combing his hands through your hair. Normally, you wouldn’t let him near it- but now isn’t exactly what anyone can call ‘normal’, and the pressure of his fingers on your scalp is soothing. You close your eyes, and let the scent of him wash over you, revelling in the contentedness practically radiating off of him. 

The two of you sit like that for another few minutes, before a soft chime resonates through the apartment, something that takes you a bit to recognize as the front door bell (you’d rigged it to sound off Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff quotes everytime someone came by, until the landlord finally received enough complaints to force the two of you to change it, something that Jake only managed to do recently. You still aren’t quite accustomed to the change.) It has you jumping and Jake tensing, his upper lip quirking away from his canines like he isn’t quite sure whether to snarl or laugh.

“Well, that’ll be the pizza!” He gets up with an urgency that his voice barely disguises, his shoulders flexing like he’s ready to brawl. His nervous energy puts you on edge, something that he apparently catches right away, for the next thing that he does is press a hand to your scruff and lean down to kiss you, melting away the anxiety knotting in your stomach. “Don’t worry, dearheart, it’s nothing to be concerned about. They won’t come into our territory, we’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t worried,” you try to protest- but it sounds weak, and you know that the tension in your body betrayed you. Still, the sweet pet name he gave you calms you down, cheesy though it may be, and you give him a chaste kiss on the cheek in return. He smiles at you, pats your head, and tucks you back into a cocoon of blankets, almost like he’s trying to hide you from the outside world. 

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, don’t you worry, Dirk.” He stops at the doorway, braces himself against it, and then, almost subconciously, marks it again with a brush of his wrists. Almost as if to calm himself, he mutters a soft, “It’s just the pizza guy,” before straightening his back and marching off down the hallway like a man to the executioner’s block.

And you are alone again.

You told Jake you weren’t worried. You told him, but unfortunately, you didn’t tell him that you wouldn’t be territorial. And it’s only when you hear the snarl start to hiss out from between your teeth that you’re realizing that you’re being just that.

It’s stupid, really. Both you and Jake have marked the door, and whoever was delivering the pizza wouldn’t cross the front step, anyways. But the omega in you doesn’t know the difference between ‘stupid’ and ‘danger’, and it’s the omega that’s in charge right now, not you. Before you know it, you’ve managed to push yourself up into a sitting position, blankets wrapped around you like a cloak, straining your ears to try to hear the sound of the intruder over the sound of you growling- trying to figure out where they were, if they were scared, how best to make them run. Your muscles were still weak from heat, slick still sliding down the back of your thighs, but this was _your_ nest and _your_ house and _your_ den, and you weren’t going to let _any_ intruders in. 

Before you gather the wits to tell yourself no, you’ve managed to stagger onto your feet. Your hips and legs scream at the exertion needed to keep you upright, to keep you steady, but you’re all angry omega instincts and pure adrenaline and spitfire wrapped up in a blanket, and you don’t have time to let your weak, heat-wracked body keep up. The only time you had was the time to drive whoever the fuck was near your alpha and your den away, to get them out of your house before they could steal your mate and your nest alike.

So you do just that.

The Dominos employee recoils as you lunge at them, a harsh, catlike growl ripping from your throat as you shove yourself between you and a very bewildered Jake. They’re a relatively small, unassuming female alpha, and one already mated, as you can tell by her scent, even though she kept her collar flipped up over her bond mark, which you can assume is why Jake hasn’t chased her out by now. Still, that doesn’t stop you from pressing your back against Jake and baring your teeth in an angry, possessive display, letting her know that her presence was very much unwanted.

“Jiminy fucking crickets!” Jake yelps, at the same time that the Dominos employee lets out a hissed _‘jesus fucking christ_ ’. You can smell the alarm on him as he wraps his arms around you, trying to pull you away- but you’re still taller than him, and wiry with strength from your many years of fencing and horseback riding, so he doesn’t really succeed in getting you tucked behind him. “Dirk, what in the name of Deborah’s lovely knickers is this all about?”

“Your mate is in heat, this is what this is about.” The deliverywoman backed away warily, keeping her eyes averted from your own, tilting her head up to show a little bit of her bond bite, though most of it stayed hidden behind the auburn curls of her hair. She doesn’t look much like someone you know, but that only makes her proximity to your den worse, and you tuck your chin down over Jake’ shoulder to glare at her some more. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this aggressive in the past, bar the times where Bro came far too close to Dave for comfort. You’d probably be ashamed of your behavior, if you weren’t so fucking mad. “I knew there was a heating omega living here when you opened the door, but I didn’t think that you still had him in here, _christ_. Why the fuck didn’t you order the special heat delivery? If I didn’t do that, my wife would have _killed_ me. It certainly would have made your omega a fuck of a lot happier.”

Jake (who had been trying to stroke your shoulder to get you to calm down, to no success) stilled.

“Special heat delivery?” He asked blankly, as if he had never heard of it before. You had, of course, having raised your omega kid brother, but you didn’t know that Dominos had one, and the lack of knowledge about that particular asset made you feel a bit sheepish, under your boiling territorial rage and the fierce instinctual pride that came from being called Jake’s omega. Fuck, you were definitely taking suppressants next time this shit came around. “That’s a thing?”

“‘Course it is. If it wasn’t, we’d be ripped apart by anyone in a heat or rut anytime the season started to roll around.” The deliverywoman gave Jake a look out of the corner of her eye that you didn’t quite like, and you snarl at her again, watching with satisfaction as she ducked back to appease you. “Call us in, and we’ll have a drone or a beta deliver it to the edges of your territory. Ain’t no need for all of-” she waved the hand not clutching the pizza in a little swirly motion- “this.”

“Pizza. Now.” You officially had enough of her, and it takes all of the self-control you have left to bite out those two short words instead of growling again. “Leave.”

“Dirk,” Jake whispers, rubbing a placating hand against one of the places that he marked you, but you’re not in the mood to be calmed. You let yourself lean against him, just a little, just enough to let him know that you still love him, but you don’t really relax until he takes the pizza from the woman, shoves the payment and tip into her face with a hurried goodbye, and latches the door shut tight behind him. And even then, once the tension melts from your body and the feeling of safety falls over you, you find yourself brimming with an entirely  _different_ kind of energy, one that has your cock stiffening and your hole dripping. 

Jake, bless him, catches the scent of you just after he turns back from setting the pizza down on the coffee table, but he doesn’t have much time to react other than a soft, needy rumble before you push him against the wall and drop to your knees before him. This close to his dick, the musk of his arousal is nearly unbearable, and you find yourself moaning with want before you even manage to pull his boxers off of him, stroking yourself as you slide the tip of him into your mouth.

The gasp and long, low moan of pleasure you get in return is delicious, a wonderful prize to recieve after the threat of the intruder has passed. You don’t even bother to try to reason with your instincts on that one- it makes the knowledge that Jake English is yours all the sweeter, a sentiment that you find is best savored kneeling. The soft gasps of pleasure,  careful hand in your hair, the choked moans of ‘Dirk, Dirk  _fuck_ **-”** it’s all you need as you swallow him down until his balls touch your chin, the heavy press of his swelling knot making your jaw ache wonderfully. It’s been awhile since you’ve deepthroated anybody, and you find that you miss it, though you’ve never loved it half as much as you do now, with the salty taste of Jake’s come thick on your tongue, the press of his knot threatening to choke you every time you bob your head down to take it in.

Jake spews out a broken stream of nonsense curse words, which you take to mean that he’s close. Normally, this would have you doubling down on him, trying to get him off, but this time, Jake’s hand in your hair tightens, pulls you off of him without giving you a chance.

You let out a wordless cry of frustration, cum and spit smearing your bottom lip as you’re pulled away, but then Jake kneels down to kiss you and you suddenly no longer have the breath to protest anymore. His hand slides between your legs, rubs two fingers against your hole, and he sucks in air sharply through his nose once he feels how wet you are, breaking away from the kiss to rise up above you and place his hands on your hips.

“Turn over, love,” he whispers- and the desperate heat in his bright green eyes has you scrambling to comply him in an instant. Now you are glad that you brought blankets with you, as you lean on your elbows and spread your legs open wide- it gives your cheek a soft place to rest as Jake pulls you in close and mounts you like a dog, sheathing his length in you with one sharp, hard thrust.

It’s almost too much. Thanks to your slick and earlier fucking, you’re loose enough and wet enough to take him, but the pleasure of being filled comes almost as a surprise, so focused were you on getting Jake off before yourself. It only makes the friction of him sliding in and out all the more sweeter, the snag of his swelling knot catching your rim making you moan and sob in ways that you’d ordinarily be much too embarrassed by to let out. Jake, however, seems to love it- with every gasp and whimper you give him, he fucks you harder, deeper, angling himself so that he catches your prostate with every thrust. You could hear him crooning in his throat, could feel it rumbling in his chest- but all of that quickly becomes wiped from your mind, as he finally sinks his teeth into your shoulder, shoves his knot deep, deep into you, and you cum hard enough to see stars, splattering the floor with your release as he clutches you tight and groans a soft ‘love you’ into your ear, his dick pulsing deep within you as he came.

It’s only when you both have had a moment to lie down together and breathe that you realize that you just had an alpha come inside you without a condom.

“Jake,” you say slowly, reality dawning as your heat wave subsides. Jake groans out an answer, sleepy and incoherent, and you elbow him- or, at least, you try to. Turns out, it’s pretty hard to elbow someone who’s got their dick buried in you and most of their body weight heaped on your back. Go figure. “Jake. Don’t mean to break it to you, man, but we may have forgotten something. Something important.”

 _That_ seems to rouse him, at least, alarm flaring through his scent as he jerks upright. You groan at the way the movement tugs on your rim, but you find that you’re only grateful that at least _someone_ in this relationship was concerned about this transaction. You weren’t sure if it was your hormones going baby-crazy, or if you were just too fucked out to care, but you hadn’t started panicking yet. Not that you could do anything anyways, with Jake locked so tightly in you, but still. It was nice that at least someone here was freaking out at the possibility of being a premature parent.

Or, at least, that’s what you thought, until Jake, with the woe of a dying man colouring his voice, moaned “Oh, blast it all to cinders. The pizza!”

It was ridiculous. It wasn’t a laughing matter. Neither you nor Jake were fit to be parents, or to survive the hardships of a possible pregnancy, and yet you found yourself giggling uncontrollably, stupid little snickers that sounded like hiccups as you tried and failed to smother them. Here you were, a nubile young omega fresh into his first heat, an unwrapped alpha cock pumping semen directly into your newly-discovered womb- and the first thing that Jake worried about was pizza. Oh. Oh, how you loved him.

“No, you idiot,” you gasped, when your mirth had finally subsided enough to gain your voice back. “No, we forgot the condom. You’re going to have to pick up some morning after pills and a pregnancy blocker if you don’t wanna end up with a little Jake junior running around by the new year, or a little Jane junior, or both, or whatever the fuck y’all Harley-Crocker-Englishes name your pups.”

“Oh.” Jake goes completely silent, stunned with the news, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek when you envisioned the stunned look that must be adorning his face right now. You’d try to twist to look, but the floor is cold and Jake is warm, and you’re tired out enough that expounding the effort for it feels like too much of a waste of energy to try. “Oh, shucks.”

“Shucks indeed,” you agree, and snuggle deeper into his embrace. Sleep, true sleep, has started to drag you down; you miss your nest, and the comfort it provides, but this is your home. This is your den. You won it, and defended it, and now here you are, snuggled up in the arms of your mate. Surely, it can’t be that bad. “Shucks indeed.”

You’re almost fully asleep by the time that Jake comes out of his trance; and you're glad that you’re not. For when he does, instead of freaking out (like you expected), all he does is shift, and whisper softly “Okay, but if it’s a girl, I get to name her Laura.”

This time, you can’t help it. You laugh, long and loud, even with the stress of the world weighing you down, even with the threat of an unwanted pregnancy on the distant horizon, the threat of a sore back in the near future. It’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous, and you’re in love, and you find, despite it all, that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Over my dead body,” you say- and then you tuck your head under Jake’s chin, and kiss his fingers before he can protest, and drift off to sleep. It’s been a long day, after all, and your heat isn’t quite over yet.

For once in your life, you can’t wait to wake up.

 

_Fin_.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeuurgh. Sorry for the longass wait y'all. I truely don't have an excuse...but, well, let's just say that the past year has had me digging down into new lows of my mental health than I ever thought possible. A lot of shit happened, I officially entered college, I tried to come out- and, well, let's just say that some people I trusted my entire life turned out to not be nearly as accepting as they always swore they would be. This is one of my most fluffy works, and while I still am extremely proud of it, it was hard to write unconditional love while enduring homemade conversion therapy. Sorry.
> 
> That being said though- I am still hoping to write more for Homestuck. Idk when I will be able to manage, but this old dog hasn't lost his spark juuust yet. Thank you for all the support and appreciation- it means a lot to me, and I hope my subsequent works bring somebody at least a little bit of happieness. Thank you all for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> There is an epilogue for this that will probably add another 2k of omegaverse shenanigans onto a fic that is basically chock full of omegaverse shenanigans, so if you like that kind of stuff, it should be up soon. If you're one of those fuckers who stay up all night to binge-read this and it's 3 am or something, I recommend you stop to sleep now. Your eyes will thank you. If you're one of those people who read this with a completely straight face beside some of your family members and withered old ladies who probably love Jesus more than their husbands- congrats, you embodied me writing half of the smut content in this fic. And if you're one of those people who read this and was somewhat confused by some of the things in it, feel free to ask, I promise you that I will explain it as best as I can.


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